


Placing Blame

by littletechiebird



Category: Batman and Robin, DCU, DCU - Comicverse, Nightwing (Comic), Robin (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-08
Updated: 2012-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-03 06:37:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littletechiebird/pseuds/littletechiebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There comes an expected strain with such a grand lie. Sometimes that strain manifests in the worst way. That's something Tim learns as it takes its toll on a simple argument that snowballs into something worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Placing Blame

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Untitled](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/7764) by Julie/Kaciart. 



_THWAK._

__

The sound reverberated around the room as if it had suddenly gained the proper acoustics to do so. His head had snapped to the side, and his body was frozen, stunned. 

 

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t taken a hit before. That was what he had been _trained_ to do now. But it was as if that had been knocked out of him, leaving him senseless for a moment, or several. It almost felt like time had frozen as his mind tried to process the events that had transpired in the last few moments.

 

_“I am your father! You will listen to me when I am speaking to you!”_

 

It had just been a shouting match. It hadn’t been the first, and it wouldn’t be the last. It happened between fathers and sons. Its likelihood had to be that much higher considering the amount of tension that constantly rode on both of their shoulders -- his own especially. 

 

_“Really? I’m pretty sure you’ve only been my father when it suited you!”_

 

But he supposed that maybe he’d struck _just_ the right chord.

 

So there they stood in the middle of the small apartment, and both of them were slowly regaining their senses. Tim straightened, eyes still widened as his hand came to the area that had been stricken upon his face. The whole side of it burned -- from the side of his eye down to his cheek. Maybe that blow had caused a bit more than a physical pain.

 

There’s silence for several seconds more, neither of them making a move. He isn’t looking at his father. He can’t. He won’t. His mind is flying in a few hundred different directions, switching between his thoughts as a civilian, and that of batman’s own soldiers. He can’t help the new instinct that’s been drilled into him, and it battles with his sense that tells him he’s fine. Really? Fine?

 

No, there isn’t anything fine about this.

 

“Tim--”

 

As the voice breaks the silence, his eyes snap wider in a moment, his body tensing and taking a step back as his father’s hand starts to move. Needless to say, such a simple action has startled him at this point. Fight or flight has kicked into his thought process and he’s already made his decision. 

 

Stepping back quickly, one after another, he’s ignoring the words that are spilling out of his father’s mouth, pleadingly. He’s only focused on grabbing his backpack from the bottom of the stairs. He needs to get out. He wants to get out. He can’t be here right now because it just wasn’t... it wasn’t _okay._

 

“Son, please!” 

 

His father was begging, but Tim’s hand had already clasped tightly around the straps of his backpack. He had no intention except to get to the door and get out. 

 

“Wait--”

 

That was exactly what he did. Wrenching the door open, he bolted out, listening to the door slam behind him as his feet carried him quickly down the hall, down the stairs, and out of the complex. He made no signs of slowing once he reached the sidewalk, or even after he had put two blocks distance between himself and his father.

 

Tim wasn’t paying the least bit of attention as to where he was when he finally slowed, but didn’t stop. His chest was heaving from the prolonged exertion, which was the only thing that told him he had gotten far enough, or even a little further. His instincts told him to go to one place in particular -- Dick’s apartment. The manor wasn’t going to be his first choice, it didn’t offer the kind of.. Well, just what _did_ he need right now? What was he looking for? There wasn’t quite a name for it, but a big brother’s touch was the closest thing he could identify it as. Or not even that, it was just.. Dick would understand. Dick would help him do.. whatever it was that he needed to do. He could get away. He could distract himself. 

 

Was that what he needed? What he wanted?

 

His head wasn’t allowing an easy selection of his assortment of thoughts. 

 

What had that fight even been about? Wasn’t it ridiculous to not be able to remember? But there had been so many lately. It made everything weigh that much heavier. He’d never wanted to lie to his father. It was the most painful thing of the whole experience, more so than any injury he had experienced. It was the one unpleasant thing he could name. Other than that, and the occasional problem with balancing his double life, this job he’d unknowingly sought out had been everything he wanted -- more, even. 

 

He and his father had been trying to _fix_ things. Had that just been wrecked?

 

Between what he had said, and his father--

 

It was something he still couldn’t wrap his mind around. He’d actually hit him. It had been a rather forceful backhand, letting Tim feel all of the hurt he’d inflicted with his retort, the frustration that he’d probably felt at himself for some kind of biting truth to the statement, and anger about too much else.

 

But Tim was still the source. 

 

The tension had been rising between the two of them because of the lies he had been forced to tell time and time again. There was no avoiding it. Things had been getting busier, getting harder and more demanding. That made things a bit harder to hide, it kept him out more often, and that much later. He had to leave at the most inopportune moments, or be gone for days at a time. His father hadn’t approved anymore. He’d insisted it was too much. Maybe he felt that something was off. A parental intuition that was kicking in now that he was really paying attention. He was _trying_ and Tim knew that. But he couldn’t be in two places at once, as much as he would have liked to be. 

 

_‘He’s right to be upset.’_ He thought to himself. Each thought that was strung along in his mind brought about a different conclusion in his mind -- one where he was due the full bill of blame.

 

_‘He’s been trying. I’ve been putting him off. He’s finally trying to give me just what I’d wanted from him... from Mom.. I’d be mad too if I was doing what was asked of me, working hard at it, only to be put off.’_

__

Because actually... _actually_ he _had_ been there before. Himself, as a child, had done everything he was asked and more. He buried himself in books, trying to get the highest grades. He tried to be the perfect student at the boarding schools he was sent off to. He waited patiently and didn’t beg for his parents to stay each time they left and came back, only to tell him they were leaving again. He remembered the burning disappointment, the anger, the pain, the rejection.. He was doing that to his father, now.

 

Some would have thought of it as a kind of poetic justice, but that wasn’t what he was looking for. It was never something he had sought out. He didn’t need to hurt his father, he’d been through enough. If anything, he’d learned to forgive.

 

Or.. he thought he had.

 

If he had been so forgiving, then why had something like that come out of his mouth?

 

That _deserved_ a swing. After all he’d been doing, and then something like that? No, that was absolutely fitting. He should have just been quiet, he should have apologized, and found a way to fix things. He should’ve worked a little bit harder. There had to be a better way to balance things, rather than continuing on like this. If only he could just _tell him_...

 

It was a desperate desire that continually came back to his mind. He just wanted to tell him, have him understand, share with him what he was trying so hard to do. 

 

But then he came back to another thought that had been bothering him for so long. Would his father understand? Would he support him? Or would he just be disappointing him again? He wondered, would it be another bite at him like tonight had been? Would it feel like a shot, as if he was trying to hurt him by doing something so dangerous and staying away? Not only that, but once he knew about all the lies he had been telling him for all this time.. He would’ve given almost anything to know a simple answer to that question. 

 

Still he couldn’t recall the subject of their fight. Was it the black eye he hadn’t quite had time to cover up last week? Or was it the bandage on his arm that he had a little too careless in properly hiding earlier that week? Or maybe it was that he had forgotten to cover his tracks with school and call himself in on one of the days previous where he’d gotten himself into a bit of hot water... That had led to a lot of questioning. After all, his father knew how unlike him it was to “skip”. It was true, but the necessity came every once in a while -- a lot more than his father was ever going to find out about. He knew his grades would never tell, at least.

 

It didn’t matter though, did it? Pick or choose, it was still his fault at the end of any of those arguments too. He knew how to properly cover his tracks no matter what the situation was, especially for slipping back into his simple life of “Tim Drake” once he took off his Robin uniform, completely unchanged. It had been problems like this, questions like this, that he had been trained to avoid. 

 

Maybe he was slipping up more because he was so tired of the lie. It wasn’t tiring of the life, just the burden of the lie to his father, of all people. He was the only family he had left. He shouldn’t have been hurting him like this. It wasn’t right. 

 

As he walked, his shoulders weighed heavily with the burden of the guilt and blame he was recognizing for himself. He could feel the ache settling in the side of his face, especially at the corner of his eye each time he blinked. It was a slight annoyance, but he felt he had no room to complain. 

 

The destination had long been forgotten, that thought being buried under the rest. 

 

\------------

 

Tim would never know of the phone calls that were made, and would not have expected the reasons behind it, or the tone.

 

It wasn’t too unlike the way Bruce hadn’t expected what soon came to be babbled into his ear, nervous, frantic, panicked. Then again, it wasn’t too often that he received a call from Jack Drake. 

 

“H-Have you seen him?”

 

He’s begging for answers, begging to at least know the location of his son. It’s something that Bruce doesn’t understand. It’s more than clear that there’s more to this story, but that was something he wanted to come to understand. It was an understatement to say that it was at least slightly worrisome with the way Jack was talking.

 

“I haven’t. What is this about? I would have assumed that Tim would be with you.”

 

He wasn’t due at the cave for several hours. There was no need to start patrol this early, and he had noted the way Tim was trying so desperately to spend as much time as he could at home. He knew the strain of it all was weighing heavily on Tim and his father. He was wondering if it had finally gotten to be just a little too much..

 

There was a long silence, though Bruce could hear the shaky breaths on the other side of the phone. He could practically hear him thinking. 

 

“Mr. Drake?”

 

“I.. I didn’t mean to.”

 

That sounded like the start to a bad phone call to the police to report an accident. In a similar way, his stomach was starting to crawl with an uncomfortable feeling.

 

His silence was Jack’s cue to continue.

 

“I just.. I just lost control of my temper!”

 

This explanation was _not_ going fast enough for his liking, making him worry just a bit more. It was a climbing tension that didn’t show on his exterior, but his grasp on the phone had tightened in the slightest. 

 

“I’ve never done that before, I- I don’t...”

 

“Mr. Drake--”

 

“I never meant to _hit_ him!”

 

Bruce tenses, eyes widening a fraction before they narrow, brows furrowing as his expression becomes that much more intense. Alfred is inquisitive beside him as he sets a mug of coffee before him.

 

“Mr. Drake, I think you should start from the beginning..”

 

\------------

 

“Is he with you?”

 

“Well “Hey” to you too, Bruce.”

 

There’s silence, Bruce’s simplest sign for someone to continue, or shut up and answer his question. Dick sighs, leaning back against the counter in his kitchen. His phone is pinned between his shoulder an his ear, his hands fiddling with a package of instant noodles. The damned thing was _not_ the least bit easy to open and he was about ready to ditch that idea and go with breakfast for dinner. Opening a box of cereal was the easiest thing to do. He would’ve been content with that.

 

“He? Do you mean Tim?”

 

It seemed like the logical choice. After all, communication usually circled between the three of them pretty easily, and there was rarely anyone else he was demanding to know about these days. That was the life of a Robin -- to be at the beck and call of the Batman.

 

“No, why? Is everything okay?”

 

“His father just called me. It seems that Tim ran off after an argument. Neither of us are able to get a hold of him.”

 

Dick stills, only moving to set the package of noodles aside. He’s not really hungry anymore. Food can wait. 

 

“And you thought he’d come here?”

 

“Keep an eye out, and your phone on.” Bruce responds, voice rough, ignoring the question. 

 

“I’ll keep trying him. Let me know if you hear something.”

 

There’s nothing else exchanged, but both men hang up the phone. Dick sighs heavily, shutting his eyes as he raises a hand to run through his hair, stopping to let it rest at the back of his head. 

 

“Timmy, where did you go?”

 

It wasn’t like him. So what could have possibly happened to make him run off? 

 

\------------

 

By the time he gives actual notice to look up at the sky and stop walking, he almost wants to laugh at himself -- quite bitterly, too. It’s _dark_. How he had managed to just keep walking until after sunset was beyond him. Glancing to the watch on his wrist, all it did was tell him that he had been walking for over three hours, that he was even more of an idiot, and that his Dad was going to kill him. 

 

He’d been out long enough, and by now he knew that he didn’t have any business in leaving to begin with. To make matters worse, it was long passed curfew. It wasn’t his first time breaking it, especially lately, but this time he didn’t even have a good excuse to tell _himself_ let alone his father. This would just add more flames to the fire, of that he was sure. There was no way his father wasn’t still angry with him about things earlier. If he could finally come to seeing his own fault in the situation, it was something that his dad must’ve seen long before. 

 

Even though he saw that fault, and knew he would deserve whatever he got when he returned home, he honestly didn’t think he had it in him to face it. Not right now. It would likely make things worse if he waited, but he figured that he’d already made the decision on his destination those few hours ago. Not only that, but he was only a short ways from that destination. He would selfishly seek out a distraction from Dick, or refuge at the very least. 

 

It doesn’t take that much longer, and he’s starting to recognize a dull ache in his feet to accompany the lightly throbbing bruise that had undoubtedly grown quite colorful over the time that had elapsed. As he reaches the door, he doesn’t knock right away. He’s still second guessing himself as he stands there. He wonders if he can really justify choosing to hide away for that much longer and not return home. He wonders if he hasn’t done enough already. 

 

He’s really got an exceptional skill at brooding and self-loathing.

 

Finally, he allows himself to raise his hand, knuckles lightly rapping against the door. He can listen to the footsteps hurriedly approach, and there’s a bitter smirk on his lips, all towards himself, as he lowers his head. The door is quickly wrenched open. As it is, Tim notes the lack of measures, and sound to accompany it, to unlock the door. It makes him wonder if Dick simply forgot to lock it, or if there’s another reason. He quickly dismisses the thought, choosing to dwell on the other things at another time.. or not. He doesn’t need to look up to know just what kind of look is on Dick’s face, it’s easy to hear it in his voice as he begins to speak.

 

“Tim!” He can hear relief in his tone at the start, and it all comes rushing out with a bunch of other emotions. “Tim, where have you been? You’ve had everyone worried sick.” 

 

There’s a moment where he finds himself stunned and confused. Worried? No, that couldn’t be right. Why? He was capable of taking care of himself. It wasn’t like he had tried to run away from home. He’d just.. He’d gone out. He’d walked around for a few hours. That was fine, wasn’t it? Though, he supposed that not checking his phone hadn’t been the best thing. Did he even have it with him? It might’ve still been off in his backpack. He wants to shake his head, because to him, it doesn’t make sense. That isn’t something he figures would go over too well, despite his internal rejection of the idea. He was the one to cause this mess. He had been the one to blame. So in stead, he just brings a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing the skin awkwardly. He supposes he feels bad for worrying Dick, too. It seems that one of the reasons for the unlocked door is that he had been expected. Why? He hadn’t exactly gotten to a point of understanding that yet. 

 

“It’s.. just been a few hours.” His voice is so much smaller than he expects, or means for it to be. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry anyone.” He just hears Dick sigh. 

 

“I’m glad you’re alright.”

 

There isn’t much else that he finds a need to say. In fact, he’s starting to further question himself as to whether he’d really made the right decision in coming.

 

“Tim?”

 

He doesn’t want to look up to meet Dick’s gaze. He just doesn’t have the strength, the energy.

 

Another sigh, but this one just sounds sad and worried. He hears, and sees, Dick step aside, allowing him to step inside. 

 

“Come on, little brother. I feel like we should talk.”

 

As he walks into the apartment, he keeps his head ducked. 

 

Tim keeps walking until he reaches the couch, shrugging off his backpack and sitting it beside his feet as he sits. Dick follows after him, moving to sit on the edge of the coffee table right in front of the smaller boy. His lips settle into a frown as he watches Tim, noticing just how he refuses to raise his head. He hadn’t seen him like this before.. It was all the more reason to worry. 

 

“Will you please look at me, I don’t like talking to the top of you he-” His hand reaches out to brush the bangs from the smaller boy’s eyes, but that’s when his own eyes catch glimpse of something that’s more than a little bit out of place.

 

“Tim! Did he _hit_ you?” His tone is suddenly lined at least a little bit frantic, but something dangerous and protective about it could be picked out too for anyone who knew him well enough and was listening close enough.

 

Tim curses mutely, wishing he had flinched away. But he honestly hadn’t been paying enough attention. So the flinch came too late, once some of the bangs had been moved from their place, casting the proper shadow over his new mark. Now Dick is leaning closer, placing a hand under his chin, tilting his head to get better light on just what he didn’t want him to see.

 

He supposed he should have better thought about that. 

 

“It’s my fault.”

 

Dick visibly flinches and freezes at the words, stunned by the statement.

 

“We got in a fight. I.. said something I shouldn’t have. I provoked him. It’s my fault. He hasn’t done it before. It’s really not a big deal. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

 

Each excuse was falling on deaf ears. Dick wanted to get angry. Hell, he already _was_ angry, but he was keeping it reigned in with great care. Releasing Tim’s chin, he opted to raise the hand to ruffle the boy’s hair affectionately. “Okay, little brother.” It was a fight he didn’t need to have, not right now. It seemed like fights were something that Tim had enough of that night. Besides, it wasn’t Tim that he was mad at. He could make sure that he understood it _wasn’t_ okay and that it _wasn’t_ his fault after he had gotten him taken care of. He stood, walking into the kitchen to open his freezer and grabbed an ice-pack. Closing the freezer, he turned to open a drawer and grabbed a towel. He ran it under water and wrung it until it was just slightly damp before wrapping it around the ice-pack. As he did, he returned to the couch where Tim had chosen to camp out. In stead of returning to his spot on the coffee table, he opted to sit beside the boy this time. As he plopped down next to him, he lightly pressed the pack to the ugly bruise, smiling weakly in apology as Tim winced. Tim’s hand came to grasp the ice pack in stead, holding it in place, and Dick’s arm wrapped around him to pull him closer. 

 

They were quiet for a while, Tim opting to rest his head against Dick’s shoulder as he closed his eyes. 

 

“..This was why I didn’t want to lie to him.”

 

Eyes only softened with sadness and understanding, turning his head to bury his nose into the short dark strands. 

 

Tim was so worried about how he was hurting his father, never worried about how he, himself, was getting hurt. He took so much responsibility on his shoulders, and did it without complaint. This had been the one thing he asked for, a way to stop lying to his father, and that was something that they didn’t know how to give. Or, it was that Bruce wouldn’t give it. 

 

Dick worried for Tim -- wondering how things might come to a head at some point. It was something he’d never experienced, so he had no idea how to advise him, no promises to give. He could promise that things would be alright, that they’d turn out, but that was a promise that could backfire on him at any time, no matter how hard he tried to keep it. Their lives had too many variables. He didn’t need to be giving Tim any broken promises.

 

Right now he could just play the role of a big brother, and hope that was enough.

 

“I know, Timmy. I know.”


End file.
